Night Terror

Bars were the worse place to meet potential business clients, but when the client insists then We have to do it. It’s not that We don’t enjoy bars, hell, We’ve been known to get tossed out of a few of them Ourselves. The real problem is that bars are just too damn loud.

There’s a jukebox blasting something from the 90’s in the corner, there’s about twenty people scattered about and they’re all talking. Loudly. There’s a muted television set behind the bar, a giant flatscreen showing a rerun of some reality show. The place is a bit of a dive, but We suppose that’s what the client wants.

It has to be like in the movies, Lyssa says, covert and in a place that no one recognizes either of us.

I just nod as I walk into the place. I spot the client easily, a tall, thin woman that looks be on the cusp of forty. A healthy looking woman, probably does yoga, doesn’t eat meat, and only buys organic.

She’s forty five and vegan, Lyssa says. I nod again, she knows these kinds of things. Plucks the information right out of the air.

People are like cold cans of beer, she told me once. Everything’s locked up in the can, but condensation forms on the outside. People are like that, everything’s locked up in their meat shell and condensation in the form of information oozes off of them. Anything you want to know about a person is just a puddle expanding around them. It’s kinda gross.

By the way, Lyssa’s not human. She doesn’t have a body either. She’s a parasite. Some kind of alien parasite.

I hate it when you think of me like that, she says.

Well, you are, aren’t you?

Yeah, but still…

She came from space, into my shitty apartment, choose me as a host, gave me powers, and We’ve been together since then.

You’re special, she said. Then she spent three agonizing hours entering my body. She didn’t even buy me a drink first.

So far it’s been going better than my first marriage.

The client’s is damn suspicious looking. She’s wearing a massive coat even though the place is hot as hell and it’s humid as a swamp outside. She’s also wearing a hat. I would have figured she’d be wearing sunglasses, except it was well pass midnight.

She’s hot, I say, admiring the view.

Too old for you and she’s got two other boyfriends. Rich boyfriends.

I grab a beer and a shot at the bar, even though I see the woman watching me. The bartender’s a nice looking gal, mid twenties.

Married, three kids, cheats on her husband with her gay best friend, who isn’t really gay, Lyssa comments.

I smile at the bartender. She smiles back. I take the shot, leave a big tip, smile again, and then head for the client. The Maker’s leaves a warm feeling in my stomach as I sit down in front of the woman. I’m not a whiskey fan, but Lyssa loves it. The only way she can experience the world is through my actions.

Mmm… whiskey, Lyssa sighs.

The beer on the other hand, a local craft beer, Robb Red’s Hell Hound Imperial Stout, makes me wish it were a woman I could take to bed. We both agree it’s a delightful beverage. For a space parasite, Lyssa’s a real booze hound, which I suppose isn’t a bad thing. It would have sucked it she only wanted fruity drinks.

“You’re late,” the woman says. Her tone is the I don’t take shit from people kind. A real turn on. We suppose that’s why she’s got two guys on the side.

“I’m here now, only three minutes late. What can I help you with, ma’am?” I ask.

Ooooh, she’s pissed you called her ma’am.

The woman looks around and then leans forward. She smells of sweat and gin. Reminds me of my last girlfriend.

Organic gin, Lyssa adds.

“I want you to kill my husband.”

#

I don’t get riled up or shocked very easily. Roll with the punches, my Dad used to say, life’s gonna fuck you up enough as it is. Just roll with the punches and don’t take it personally. Life’s a bitch, son. Now go get me another beer and ask your new mom where the fuck is dinner.

That’s one of the reasons I choose you, Lyssa says. Not the beer or the mom part, the roll with the punches stuff.

I raise an eyebrow and take a long drink of my beer though. The woman shrinks back into her coat and eyes me. We suppose she feels safe in that jacket. She must be sweating balls in there.

I thought you said she only had boyfriends.

She does. She doesn’t have a husband.

“Alright,” I say, leaning back in the booth. The cheap vinyl squeaks and the jukebox turns over to another 90’s grunge song. I hate grunge. “Give me a name, face, and his usual whereabouts. He’ll be dead inside of a week.”

The woman’s eyes widen and she casts about fearfully.

She’s flipping the fuck out, Lyssa says helpfully.

“Be quiet,” the woman hisses. “You’ll be overheard.”

“Who cares. You don’t even have a husband. I can’t kill what you don’t have,” I respond.

The woman looks at me wide eyed again. “What…”

“What do you really want?” I ask. “I get cranky and drunk when I’m up past midnight.”

The woman stares at me, not making a move and not making a sound.

Oh, wait. I get it now, Lyssa says.

“I do have a husband,” the woman says. “No. I used to have a husband. That thing that’s using his body is no longer my husband.”

The woman spills her guts, metaphorically. She was married to a guy named Alvin Greyson, a big time money kind of guy. We figure she likes guys with money, a rich husband, two rich boytoys on the side. We also figure she must really like sex. We can dig that.

It seems that good ole Mr. Greyson was out for a week on business. He came back and brought home something special. Not an STI, something worse. A demon inhabiting his body. The Widow Greyson didn’t know where it came from, how it happened, or what kind of demon it was. All she knew was that it was a monster and her husband was dead.

She also knew a lot about this kind of stuff. In between the triangle of dongs she was smoking, she studied the occult and various other things, like cooking and basket weaving. She spotted the signs of demon-ness in her husband quickly and took measures to protect herself and her soul.

The big coat she wore held all kinds of charms and protective amulets. A whole lot of crystal, old school bones, and metal that must’ve weighed a ton.

She hasn’t showered in a few days, Lyssa says. Plus she’s been drinking a lot.

Makes two of us.

Three actually.

“So you want me to get rid of your demon husband,” I say, finishing off my beer. I want another, but the bartender’s the only one serving drinks and she’s busy. I catch her eye though, she smiles and sees my empty raised glass.

“Yes.”

“You sure he’s a demon?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“YES!” the woman snaps. Heads turn, people watch, and she shrinks into her jacket. So much for going unseen.

Stop fucking with her and just say yes, already, Lyssa says.

Lyssa’s got that hungry vibe to her now. She knows there’s prey out there and she’s ready to go do battle with it.

Oh, yeah. That’s my job these days. Going around and taking care of the bad things in the world and there are, to my surprise, a lot of bad things out there. I used to work construction before Lyssa arrived. Now I do this. The money’s a lot better. Hours suck though

You’re a warrior. A new age warrior fighting the good fight against the hordes of darkness! Lyssa says, she’s super excited now.

“I can do it,” I tell the woman. She slumps back in relief. “Tell me what’s going on?”

Lyssa can read the information oozing off people, but it’s all subjective. A person thinking her husband’s already dead, like the Widow Greyson here, will show up as having no husband. It’s not that Lyssa dropped the ball, it’s that the Widow Greyson already checked the unmarried box in her brain and what oozed out was that information.

People aren’t all open books most of the time.

They’re pretty self delusional too, Lyssa adds.

“I’ve been trained in the arcane arts by a first rate wizard,” the Widow Greyson says. “I know the signs of demon possession. I know there’s nothing left of my husband in there. Not even his soul.” Tears well up.

I smile and say thanks to the bartender as she brings my second round. The tip is even bigger this time. There’s a light in that bartender’s eyes, one that I could have capitalize on if it weren’t for the business going on.

All play and no work makes for empty pockets.

I take a long pull of my beer. “When do you want me to do this?” I ask.

“It has to be tonight. There’s a chance I can save my husband’s soul if we do it quickly.”

“I thought you said his soul was gone.”

“It’s not inhabiting the body, but it’s still tethered to the living body.” She says.

I don’t get any of it, but it doesn’t matter. Kill a demon, capture a demon, basically the same thing.

“I’m never one to wait around while evil’s taking a person’s body for a joyride,” I say.

Another reason I choose you, Lyssa adds.

She explains her husband’s soul has been ripped out of his body and can’t go to heaven or someplace. Its just floating there, tied to the body the demon’s now inhabiting and when that demon decides its done joyriding, it’s going back to the hell it came from. Which will mean it’s dragging the poor late Mr. Greyson along with it.

We settle on a cash price. She’s paying very, very well and a bonus if we save the soul.

Kill! Lyssa is yelling now.

“Usually I have a lady buy me a drink before she takes me home,” I say, the two imperial stouts are making their presence felt. Going into battle with a nice buzz is the only way to do it. We walk to her car. It a Prius, of course.

The Widow Greyson is not amused at all.

She thinks you’re cute though, Lyssa says.

I am a handsome devil, I respond.

Reason number three.

#

With all the money that’s being tossed around, and the fact that the Widow Greyson had a rich husband and two rich boyfriends, I was expecting a gated mansion and little cherubs pissing into fountains.

We drove up to a two story suburban McMansion. I wasn’t impressed.

It cost a million dollars and they paid it all in one go, Lyssa says.

“I was expecting Wayne Manor,” I say.

The Widow Greyson is still not pleased by my words. We suppose anything I say isn’t going to please her. Men, Mars. Women, Venus.

I’m from Tarakinanthor.

Big whoop, I’m from Glendale.

“The problem with today’s wealthy individuals is that they have voluntarily segregated themselves from society. We cannot live behind gates and walls and still claim to have the people’s ear. We must live among them and see life through their eyes.” She says as we walk up to million dollar home.

Danger! Lyssa screams.

I grab the Widow Greyson and yank her from the door. There’s a squeak of surprise and we’re both tumbling in the big front yard.
The door rips off the hinges and something big, ugly, and reeking of sulphur stands there. It’s naked, has a stubby tail, and requisite horns growing on it’s head. I also see it has a gigantic swinging cock. Demons, man, they pack the heat.

“Well, hello, Mr. Greyson,” I say, rising to my feet.

“Hi,” the demon in Mr. Greyson’s meat body says.

We stare at one another for a moment, not yet knowing what we’re going to do. We suppose since We’re here to kill it We should make the first move.

KILL IT!She screams in my head. If she had a body she’d be foaming at the mouth.

I leap at the beast, hands extended. When Lyssa, the space parasite, made me her host. She gave me powers. Lyssa’s gifts come into play, my hands turn into long blades and I hack and stab at the demon Mr. Greyson.

The Demon Greyson screams and backs into the house. He’s not the bravest of demons. The smell of the place hits me like a wave. Its reeks of rotting meat, cat piss, and incense. Demon nests are the most horrible smelling places in the world. It’s as if they don’t teach a demon coming from hell the basics of cleaning.

The hardwood floor is slick with demon shit and the walls are covered in looping strands of intestines. I suppose there’s probably about a million missing pet posters plastered all along this little neighborhood.

Ah, who the hell am I kidding. A pricey place like this, the HOA has to be a major bitch.

“Don’t kill him!” the Widow Greyson is yelling.

The Demon Greyson slashes at me with it’s claws. Not only are they deadly, but they’re also covered in demon shit. He’s a messy wiper. I duck the swipe and move fast, space parasite enhanced fast, and take out his achilles heel.

Like a puppet with it’s strings cut, the Demon Greyson flops on it’s back and howls in terrible agony. Demon blood spurts on the shit stained floors and the meat puppet body writhes in pain.

The Widow Greyson rushes into the house. I’m surprised she doesn’t reel back from the smell. She’s got a bag in one hand and what looks like a taser in the other hand. I wonder if she was going to try to stop the Demon Greyson with that.

Watch out! Lyssa yells too late.

The Widow Greyson zaps me with the taser.

Oh, man, it hurts and then I go unconscious.

#

I wake up naked and tied to a bed. The first time that’s ever happened.

What the hell, Lyssa, I say.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was just so excited about the demon. I sorta.. I guess I just didn’t really check all the puddles.

Why the hell is she zapping me with tasers and where the hell are my clothes!

“I’m sure you’re wondering what’s going on,” a voice says.

I look up to see the Widow Greyson standing before the bed. She’s not in her big coat anymore, she’s in some kind of black leather get up that’s hugging her yoga toned body tight. Black leather does her good.

There’s a thumping sound and the Demon Greyson enters the room. I see he’s healed himself. Demons can do that. Anything you do to a demon, given enough time they’ll heal themselves back up. The achilles heel trick is good at disabling them, but not good if you want to keep them down for good. Killing them is the best way.

“Let me guess. Orgy.” I say.

The Widow Greyson snorts.

“We were hunting you,” the Widow Greyson says. “You have something we want.”

“Yeah, go gentle though. I’ve never been with a woman over forty.”

“Lyssa,” the Demon Greyson says.

I was wondering why Lyssa was silent. She’s hiding.

What’s going on?

They want me.

Obviously. But why?

“She’s the key,” the Widow Greyson says. “She’s the key to ruling the universe.”

Really?

Yeah. Kind of.

“She’ll open the doors to the heavens and we shall be able to bring in the Chosen Ones!” the Demon Greyson’s got a real hard on now. It’s got to be careful with that thing.

“Jews?”

“Demons!” the Widow Greyson yells.

There’s more thumping and two more men walk into the room. Naked, big cocked, and sporting horns.

Her boyfriends, Lyssa supplies.

I figured. Look at those dicks.

“What’s Lyssa have to do with this? She’s a space parasite come to Earth to do battle with demons, monsters, and aliens from afar.” I say. “She’s done nothing wrong! Well, except allowing me to kill your ungodly kind.”

“Her DNA holds the information we need to access the Gateways of the Gods and bring forth our blessed soldiers!” the Demon Greyson shakes his fists to the heavens.

Your DNA can do that?

Yeah. Sorta.

Can they just take you out of me? Like a tapeworm? I ask.

Gross. No. I’m fused with you.

So… how are they going to do this?

They’re going to hack you up and bring together all the pieces of me that’s fused to the various parts of your body. Then they’ll begin taking samples from that.

I thought demons were all magic and the like? What’s with this science stuff?

There are no real demons, in the Biblical sense. They come from a hell dimension. They’re a kind of parasite, like me. Except they don’t live in harmony with their hosts, they eventually take it over and begin rewriting the host DNA with their own.

What’s with the big dicks.

Over compensation.

So, how do they get into these hosts.

They have to be welcomed into them. Someone has to let them enter this plane and then prepare a host for them.

There’s only one person that could have done that.

“You set this all up. You allowed these demons dicks into our universe and prepped your own husband and boytoys to be hosts for them?” I ask.

The Widow Greyson whacks me with a leather whip. “I have my reasons!”

“That’s fucked up!”

“These men weren’t even men to begin with. What they are now is far better than what they were before.”

“Yeah, it’s still fucked up.”

“Get the Knives! We need to get the parasite out of him before the sun rises!” the Widow Greyson commands. Her boytoys race out of the room.

“Why do you want demons in this plane, anyway?” I ask the Widow.

“Look at them!” she points at the Demon Greyson. “They are perfect. They are pure in what they are.”

“The dude’s hand is covered in his own shit!” I yell.

She frowns.

“There are pet intestines everywhere!”

“They are what they are,” she says.

“We shall rule this world. Once the Gateway is open, we shall not need hosts, we shall be legion, and we shall burn the world to ashes,” the Demon Greyson says.

“It’s because of their big cocks, isn’t it?” I say to the Widow. She whacks me with the leather whip. Hard.

“The world needs a change and they shall bring it. Their violence will be pure and those people that have made this world suffer shall know suffering instead. The world needs a cleansing fire! The world needs a reboot! Humanity needs the egalitarianism of suffering, of pain, and of terror!”

The boytoys reenter the room carrying what appears to be a pair of glowing knives.

OH, SHIT! Lyssa yells.

What now?

The Knives of Kimora!

“The Knives of Kimora! The only known tool that can remove a Tarakinanthor Warrior Queen from it’s host! The blades of the Ancients designed solely to tear out what inhabits your body.”

Warrior Queen?

Yeah, did I mention I’m a queen? That I rule over the Tarakinanthorians? That I came to Earth because I’d rather fight monsters than rule a trillion devoted subjects?

Jesus, Lyssa. We need to discuss your origins.

“This will hurt,” the Widow Greyson says, “but it will leave your body undamaged. The pain will be in your mind. Don’t worry, you’ll live long enough to see this world burn.”

Will it hurt you, Lyssa?

Duh.

How badly?

Very.

Lyssa was right. It did hurt. Badly.

#

I suppose I was the can and the Kimora Knives were the can opener. The Boytoys weren’t gentle about opening me up. They came at me with crazed grins, hard cocks, and began stabbing away at my body with those glowing knives. I’ve never felt so much pain before, not even when Lyssa wiggled her way into my body.

I did not wiggle! AGGGGGHHHHH!

Our screams were one.

I could feel some kind of tugging inside of me, like when you have a piece of meat stuck in your teeth and you’re tonguing at it. You can feel it, you can feel the tugging sensation, but you just can’t pull it out. That’s how the Knives felt, but across my whole body and with great agony.

I’m usually good at handling pain.

Reason number four.

This was pain on a different scale.

“Will you hurry up!” the Widow Greyson was getting pissy.

One of the Boytoys rolled its eyes and stabbed me harder.

Lyssa and I were a duet of screams, but I was alone in the thrashing.

Then I felt something, the ties that were holding me were beginning to loosen. In a moment where there isn’t pure agony stabbing at me, I look up to see that the leather straps are stretching. I hide my grin, thanking the Widow Greyson. She’s big into the leather and with enough yanking, leather stretches.

When the knives cut into me again, I made sure to redouble my thrashing. The Widow Greyson eyes light up at that. What a freak.

“Harder! Harder!” she yells, excitement gleaming in her eyes. That dims as there’s still no Lyssa coming out with each stab the Boytoys make.

“Are you even doing it right!” the Widow Greyson screams. Shit, she is just like my last girlfriend.

The Widow Greyson grabs one of the Knives out of the Boytoy’s hand and looks at it. Then she stabs it into my chest.

I scream and my right hand slips free of the leather cords. Before the Widow can react, I grab the Knife from her hand. She squeals and falls back, the Boytoys and the Demon Greyson watch with shock. I take the moment to slice my other hand free and then stab the blade into the nearest Boytoy.

The blade is smooth, it’s like cutting butter. The Knife slides in easy and when I pull it out, it’s got something red hooked at the tip of it. The Boytoy is screaming and then flops over on it’s back like a dead fish. It doesn’t move, but the thing on the tip of the Knife is squirming and screaming.

It looks like a tiny man. Red, glowing, a pair of horns, and rocking a tiny penis. Everyone is staring at it with horror, no one moves as we’re all transfixed by the figure until it finally stops flailing it’s tiny arms and dies.

Lyssa! Wake the fuck up!

Huh? Pain. Can’t. Won’t. Shhhh…

It’s not the best time for your space parasite who needs to be awake for your powers to work to be knocked out. It seems I’m on my own.
Everyone’s in a state of shock, so I move fast. I hack off the leather cords wrapped around my ankles and roll off the bed. The other Boytoy reacts slashing with it’s Knife. It stabs into the bed and get stuck in the springs. The magic qualities only seem to work on parasite infused fleshbags, not pricey mattresses. I’m on my feet and moving fast.

Even without alien superpowers, I’m still a pretty fast guy.

Reason number five, Lyssa says weakly.

Lyssa’s awake, but barely. My free hand turns into a blade and I run it into the Demon Greyson. He doubles over as a foot of alien steel punches into his belly, popping out his back, and spraying hot, rancid demon blood all over the wall. I pull my arm blade out of his gut and slash down with the Kimora Knife.

The thing I bring out of the Demon Greyson isn’t small and red like the Boytoy. It’s a fat, red black thing that looks like a cross between a fetal pig and an octopus. Its ugly, its thrashing, and it’s dying before my eyes.

The Widow Greyson is screaming, hands outstretched, eyes locked on that ugly thing at the tip of my blade. I grin and then use my other blade hand to stab the Demon Greyson’s demon parasite in what I hope is it’s head.

It explodes like a ballon filled with blood.

The other Boytoy stares at me and then tries to flee. I throw the Kimora Knife and it stabs the thing in the back. The Boytoy takes two steps and then drops to the floor, rolling on it’s side. A small red thing is impaled on the tip of the blade.

Yay, we won. Lyssa says, she’s slurring and mumbling.

You gonna be okay in there? I don’t want a dead parasite inside of me.

I’m not going to die. I just need some time, she says.

“You’re not taking me alive, monster!” the Widow Greyson screams and pulls the Kimora Knife from the dead Boytoy’s back. She stabs herself with it and begins screaming in absolute pain.

It doesn’t inflict bodily damage, Lyssa says.

We stand there and watch for a moment, until the Widow Greyson passes out from the pain.

Let’s get the hell out of here, I say.

There are some clothes in the bathroom. They’re not mine, but they fit. I wash up and put them on. I find my boots by the front door.

Should we do something about the Widow Greyson? I ask.

Three dead bodies in her bedroom and a house covered in demon shit and pet intestines? Call the cops.

Good idea.

We leave the house behind, I don’t have the keys to the Prius, but this is the kind of neighborhood where the high price tag affords folk to leave the doors to their eco-friendly cars unlocked. Our money’s on the passenger seat and We head out as the sun is rising.